


The Gods Must Be Crazy

by whimsicalmuse



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Humor, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-05
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7729081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a crack!fic. ?nuff said. What the @*&%$(edited for posting to other coms) is a numptie anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the [Monaboyd.net Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Monaboyd.net), which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Monaboyd_Archive/profile).

Tallulah Jackson was not a happy camper. Not in the least. Mardi Gras was always a trying time anyway, but on this particular year, the city she loved was packed to the gills with a new crowd, and it was a crowd she did not like. It would seem some hot shot kids from a big shot movie were down here in a move that was one part Mardi Gras two parts movie plug, and they brought a herd of fan girls from all over the world, along with what looked like a small mafia of LA types wearing cell phones and Betsy Johnson.

There used to be a time when the Gras brought down dumb college students that would strip butt naked and lose half their brains to too many mint juleps, but now, NOW, she could hardly walk down the street without tripping over some blonde heifer, or plump raven-haired girl of 20, giggling like mad and whispering their delusion that they’d get to “snog a hobbit” before the night was over.

To make matters worse, these “hobbits” as they were called made terrible Gods.

Bacchus was at best, presentable. Hell, he wore a shiny gold and white outfit, along with those…punk panties with a straight face. Besides which it was bad enough they got a skinny white boy to play him, at least he kept quiet for the most part and didn’t embarrass himself too much with drunken dancing.

But the guy they had playing Orpheus that Dominic Monaghan was sacrilege. He was far too proud of his tongue, and Tallulah was sure it wasn’t natural for a grown ass man to sport eyeliner like some men show off their new shoes. He made about as much sense as the god of Music as that Elijah boy made when he flashed his panties, and that wasn’t saying a whole lot.

She thought maybe she was being a bit hard on the boy, but when she decided to leave her cozy abode and saw him at the House of Blues, she ‘bout lost her mind.

The boy couldn’t sing for toffee shit.

Tallulah wondered what the hell kind of city would let a boy, a BRITISH boy at that, come on in and be the god of Music, especially if he couldn’t even sing? What the hell where they thinking? If he’d had been shy or a chagrined about the fact that he sounded like a pack of hound dogs baying at the moon, she might have forgiven him, but NO! The joker had the nerve to be proud, fresh even, he flashed the crowd! Well, Tallulah wasn’t going to have that, and when he sauntered his bony ass down off that stage she waltzed right up to him, to give him her two cents.

“Um, Mr. Monogan?”

The boy swiveled on his stool, a lazy smile on his smug crooked face. He obviously thought she was some kind of fan.

Not in his wildest dreams.

“Yes’m?”

“I uh,” she hesitated. The bottom of her Scotch glass didn’t tell her that he’d have friends with him when she went to cuss him out. “I wanted to let you know that in my opinion, you weren’t the best choice of Orpheus.”

He blinked at her slowly a few times. “And, why is that?”

“Orpheus is supposed to be about music and poetry. You’re no musician and I’ve not seen you even recite a nursery rhyme.”

Dom raked his hands through his hair-it looked greasy, nasty boy-and then infuriatingly, a smile crossed his lips.

“And who would you think would be a better choice then?”

“Someone musical, of course! Take that Clay Aiken for example. He’s a nice…” She started to say white boy, but reconsidered when she surveyed his crowd. “…Boy...he’s a nice boy, and he can sing his ass off. You on the other hand…”

He eyed her, blinking again a few more times, and then, like a demented fart, a laugh bubbled up and out of his throat, and he threw his head back. The others had the nerve to laugh too! He put a heavy hand on her shoulder, squeezing it fondly.

“I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, love.”

Love.

Tallulah fumed. Damn that British jackass. Love, who the hell did he think he was calling her love? She wasn’t a GODdamn thing to him, but she’d show him what love was about.

She stormed off, dodging a few dumb fan girls that were trying and failing to look casual, and shot the man a parting glare.

He was flirting shamelessly with a dark haired musician that had been in the band.

Fucking man whore. She’d teach him.

*

Making a charm, as the tourists called them, was always a tricky matter, even for the most experienced, and sadly, Tallulah wasn’t the most experienced. She had a few lucky breaks over time, and slowly expanded her clientele, but the truth of the matter was, Tallulah sometimes flubbed a spell or two (or four) though in the past had been able to recover her error before life or limb was lost. Literally.

It was the stress of it all, and her track record, that led her to smoke as she did.

Thus, by the time she was onto the final phase in her spell, nearly an entire pack of cigarettes had been sacrificed. She stirred the dark brew, two cigs balanced precariously on her lip, mumbling the incantations softly.

She knew this would have been easier were she not still a bit tipsy, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

That stupid Monohand had made the terrible mistake of _giving_ her a few of his hairs when he had the nerve to touch her, and it was with this tiny bit of his DNA that she would seal his fate and teach him a proper lesson.

If only she could decide what to teach, that is.

In voodoo, nothing is ever “cursed” without an effect. What is put out is received back threefold, so a priestess had better damn well make sure what she hashed was worth it. So while Tallulah was indeed not too happy with the Monodick, she didn’t want half of what she wanted to dish out to him, to come back to her. She was working on a powerful headache, leaning over her fire, sucking her teeth at the few stray ashes that fell into the pot, until at last, she made a decision.

She’d see how much Mr. Monowhore would like to have to deal with a limp dick for a while.

A long while.

At least a year.

Cackling maniacally, she let the scant hairs fall like snowflakes into the broth, and as she did so, waiting for the hair to connect with brew so that she could say the final incantation and seal the spell, her assistant Ruby dashed in.

“Tallulah! Sheila’s in labor!”

She sputtered, dropping _another_ hunk of ash in, and cursed. “Shit. I’m comin’!”

Damn pregnant women and their timing! The hair bubbled, and sank into the brew, and she frowned.

She hadn’t been that distracted, had she?

Nah.

With the spell sealed, she set it off the fire, content to wrap things up and deal with delivery in the morning. For now, she had a baby to help deliver.

February 28th.

“Dom, are you okay?”

Dominic never ceased to be amazed at the wealth of useless information and stupid questions that buzzed around in Elijah’s head. He was sure they just…nanced about like sedated bees, sometimes floating out of his ears, and into his curled little mouth.

“No, you fuckwit. I’ve a headache, fucking bad one too. It won’t fucking go away.”

Billy’s face tensed, and those three lines Dom fancied were rather cute in an old fart sort of way popped up on his forehead.

“Have ya taken anything?”

“Yeah,” he groused. “Nothing seems to help it.”

“Could be a migraine.” Elijah offered. Another info bee had escaped, apparently.

“Forget about it, what were you saying, Billy?” Dom reached for his beer.

It was silly to sit up worrying about something that wasn’t going to go away.

“Oh, yes. See, Ali’s been a bit…touchy lately ya know, and to be perfectly honest, I’m right glad to get out for the night. She’s been a ball buster, I’m telling you, I’m sad to say…” Billy swigged his beer.

“Maybe it’s nerves over the awards.”

Dom was always the one to be a peacemaker. Maybe he was so good because he was such a shit starter.

“Maybe it’s that time of the month.” Elijah offered up.

Now, Dom didn’t know why but for some damn reason hearing Elijah say this along with the stupid rat-grin Billy got on his face, really pissed him off.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Trust me, Dommie.” Billy patted the top of Dom’s hand fondly, and then left his warm damp fingers there. “I’ve lived with women most of my life. When the females of our species get cranky, their friend Flo is usually on the way.”

“That’s bollocks,” Dom bristled. “Women are cranky because men are arseholes.”

Elijah blinked, and then snorted over the mouth of his beer. “Since when have you found your inner uterus?”

“Fuck you, Doodle.”

“Oh, I would, but Billy here would kill me if I tried anything.”

*

“Billy,” Dom murmured low in the kitchen, so that Elijah wouldn’t hear him. “Don’t leave tonight. Stay with me.”

“Dom,” He rubbed his mouth, and stepped away, closer to the living room. “Don’t do this.”

Don’t be a girl.

Dom stomped after him.

“I don’t think it’s too much to ask my friend to stay with me tonight and watch movies.”

Elijah, in a rare and unusual moment of perceptiveness, laughed. “Ahh, our Sblomie’s being such a stupid sappy cunt tonight. He _is_ in touch with his inner uterus!”

Billy laughed, so much so he had to clutch his sides.

“Fuck you, both of you. You’re such insensitive fuckwits.”

Did he really just say insensitive?

“Och Dom, what are you on about?”

“What am I on about? I woke up late, stubbed my toe on the way to the bathroom, I have the world’s worst fucking headache ever…”

Seventeen more reasons why he should be miserable were born, and to add insult to injury, his friends merely blinked, and snatched up their keys.

“Where are you going?” He asked, angry that his voiced verged on whiny.

The sound of the door closing was their only reply, and rage, hot rage boiled inside him.

“WHY ARE YOU LEAVING?”

He stood in the middle of the floor, rubbing his chest absentmindedly, (fuck, _that hurt_ ), cracking his voice at the end, and then sat down with a pint of Chunky Monkey and cried.

February 29th.

Billy Boyd was damn fine in a suit. And LA weather suited him. Even though he was a bit pink around the edges from his impulsive early morning surf, he’d shaved, got his hair done, and tucked away all the vestiges of the scruffy Scot Dom was so familiar with. The sight was so damn pleasing Dom just couldn’t resist, so he reached out and touched Bill, right on the chin.

Billy was kind enough to growl his demand for Dom to stop.

Dom was man enough to admit the lilted, “Geroff!” hurt. It did. But, he shrugged.

Sometimes Billy was a pissy fuck.

Joan-Hag with more plastic than a Lego Factory-Rivers was blathering on, speaking to Elijah, and while Dom loathed the woman, at least she managed to get Sean to take those stupid glasses off; even if it was by way of Mackenzie.

“Hi Mackie! I love you!” Dom blew a kiss. He figured he should be nice to him, since after he discovered Mackie had drunk the last beer, he threw the empty bottle at him.

The shirt rubbed against his chest again, making his nipples spring to life painfully, and he groaned.

If he was this uncomfortable in his clothes and it was only what, three in the afternoon, this was going to be a very long night.

March 12th.

Dom was happy, and cleaning, though the latter was not responsible for the former. Billy was coming over, and Ali had been shipped, er, had gone home. Dom and Billy alone for the night made for a happy Dom. Kicking Mack out of the house, “Go to see brother!” made his mood even better, so he was even happier! Very happy Dom.

*

“You cleaned?”

“Yes, I can clean.”

Dom sniffed.

“No,” Billy shook his head. “No, you can’t. You don’t.”

“Shut it, ya fucking arse bandit cunt.” Dom huffed.

“I didn’t come here to fight.”

Still huffing, “No, you came here to shag.”

“…Is that unusual?”

Sniff. “You’re only in this for the sex.”

“No, you have a nice tee shirt collection too.”

“Billy!”

“Dom, ya daft numptie, stop acting like such a big girl’s blouse and let’s eat.”

*

“What movies did you get to watch?”

“I didn’t. Mack got em….”

Billy settled into the couch, patting his full belly. Billy lied; he was in it for Dom’s cooking just as much as he was in it for Dom’s arse, though he didn’t tell him enough, maybe.

With DVD in player, Dom switched off the lights, plopping down next to Bill as the credits rolled.

“Oh I haven’t seen-“

But Billy never got to finish that sentence. Dom rugby tackled him, shoving a slick warm tongue down his throat, while another hand dove into his pants.

Twenty minutes later…

“Bill, not the tits.”

“…The WHAT?”

“Nipples, ya daft cunt! Lay off the nipples.”

Dom rubbed a broad outline around them to emphasize his point.

“…You LOVE it when I bite them.”

“Well not tonight.”

An hour, (so Billy says) later…

Dom sniffled.

“Dom?”

Sniffle.

“Yes?”

“…Are you crying?”

“No.”

Sniffle.

“Yes, you are.”

“No I’m not.”

Sniffle.

“Dom, you’re dripping snot on my chest, don’t lie!”

“It’s just, it’s so beautiful, ya know?”

“…”

“And then you’re leaving, and I’ll be here alone…”

“…”

“And who knows when we’ll see each other again??”

“…Who are you and what have you done with my Dommie?”

Dom’s reply was a potent kick off the bed.

March 28th.

 

 

 

 

 

Dominic had to pee, and he had to pee NOW, there was no doubt about it. He scuttled down the hallway, pausing for half a moment to bang his fist onto the door of the guest bathroom, where Billy was no doubt taking a mean post dinner shit.

“OCH! FUCKER!”

Dom snickered, and scampered down the hall, to Sean’s room.

Going into the Astin bedroom was something he was never comfortable with, despite the fact that he visited the house at least once a week when in town. To him, being there was so…intimate, and every time he was there, he couldn’t get the image of Sean and Christine shagging out of his mind.

And everyone knows that to Dominic, a naked Sean Astin was a very frightening prospect.

His bladder throbbed, reminding him anew of his need to pee, and he shut the door behind him, hard, and fumbled with the zip of his jeans. A box fell from the shelf hanging on the wall by the door, the sharp edge landing _right_ on his scalp, and hotdamnitall it fucking hurt. He bounced from one leg to the other, doing the pee pee dance, as he picked up the box, and put it on the counter. God knows he didn’t want to leave anything out of place. Yet, for some reason, curiosity struck Dom in that moment, and he just _had_ to know what kind of box it was.

It would seem the Astins had purchased an industrial size box of pregnancy tests.

Now, years later, Dom could never fully articulate why he did this, but in his defense, he was a slight bit pissed, and well, it was there. Whatever the reason, he pulled out a test, holding the white and purple contraption up like a chimp would handle a power tool, and looked at himself in the mirror.

A sick desire lunged in his chest, and before you could say two lines means positive, he whipped out his Weasel, and let it rip onto the absorbent strip on the end.

He was mildly irritated to discover that for all his urgency, he only had a teeny tiny trickle of piss.

What the hell was up with that? He felt like a gallon of beer was set to come out.

“Hey Sean, there something you need to tell us? Are you investing in pregnancy tests to support America?”

He chuckled, hearing the man’s footsteps approach, and tucked himself into his pants, mindful of the zipper. He’d had his share of misfortune, and it was no fun. Nosiree. Hearing Weasel scream was never a fun thing.

He glanced down at the counter, working to get the faux marble surface into focus, and blinked. Funny, he didn’t think pregnancy tests were supposed to react to a man’s piss. Not even the control window.

Sean busted through the door, just as the lines settled, the two rows of pink blaring back at him, as if to say HAHA HA DUMBASS WHY’D YOU DO IT, YOU DRUNK WANKER?

He knew his life was fucked or seriously pissed: pregnancy tests were talking to him.

“What’d you say, Dom?”

He whipped around face ashen, reflexively shoving the evil test into the trash to be buried among hair and wadded up toilet paper.

He was drunk, that’s it. That test wasn’t positive, it couldn’t be.

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything.” He mumbled, staggering down the hall.

He knew then that he and Billy would have to cut this visit short.

March 29th

Dom was still distracted by the test, and he felt like shit. Like a steaming heap of Oliphant shit, actually. He’d been sick all day long, from the moment he woke up, until now, cooped up at this stupid video game event.

Everything made it worse and it started when he got a whiff of the gallons of cologne Billy doused himself with.

The eggs Billy made for breakfast didn’t help. (Not that the man could cook for shit anyway.)

Neither did the tuna sandwich for lunch.

Or the exhaust from some fucking Corvette next to them on the 405.

Nor the cameraman that apparently refused to wear deodorant this morning.

And that coffee lady that came by before the game began.

Bill’s cologne… _again_.

Dom started playing the game. Game very hard. Letters too big. Screen too bright. Camera lights too hot. Dom dizzy.

Billy won.

Billy WON?!?!?

The world had turned upsidefuckingdown.

To make matters worse, the little lilting cunt just _had_ to rub it in.

“Who beat you?”

“I can’t...” He swallowed. Wave of nausea. “I don’t remember.”

“Who was that again?”

Billy’s a cunt.

“Some guy.” A dickhead, actually. “He was very unprofessional.” Though not unshaggable when his manky cologne wasn’t making Dom sick.

“Uhh,” He looked up at the ceiling, like Dom didn’t know he was just getting started. “It was me.”

“Was it you?” Dom didn’t remember. He was too busy focusing on not puking on Bill’s shoes. That would certainly make Billy disgruntled. The man was very fond of his shoes.

“Yeah, it was me.”

Wanker.

“I can’t remember that far back in time.”

Focus. Not on the shoes.

“Yeah, it was only a minute ago.”

Kind of like sex with Billy: only lasts a minute.

“Yeah, well…”

Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

…

“Would you like to play with me…”

“Yeah.”

“On the computer.”

Note to Dom; look up flu symptoms on Webmd tonight.

“On the, you know.” Billy motioned with his hands. “grab the joypad and go.”

He cocked his head at Dom.

There was no way he was getting shagged tonight. Nessie was stayin in the loch.

Some guy laughed. “You’re walking a fine line though, aren’t you?”

“Am I?” Bill turned to Dom, a sharky smirk on his face. “What’s that?”

He knew damn well what “that” was, and had demonstrated as much on Dom just last night.

“Too many metaphors. Because people can see through that...”

Billy bounced on his feet, and smiled. Cheeky fuck.

“…and think it's some sort of sexual connotation that it isn't.”

“It wasn’t.”

Liar.

“I know. You’re a very innocent man.”

So long as we’re both lying here.

“I know.”

Wanker.

“Yeah.”

And Dom’s still nauseated.

“I won.”

Fuckwipe. Fucking cocky Scottish fuckwipe.

“What?”

Because Dom didn’t hear him the first four million times.

“Me.”

Yeah, yeah whatever, fucking kilted arse bandit.

April 1st.

“That’s it, Dom. We’re going to see a doctor.”

“No.” Dom retched. “I’m okay.” He heaved.

“No, you’re not. You’ve been blowing chunks for days.”

Dom wibbled.

Billy winced, as a particularly wet sound echoed from the open bathroom.

“You’ve been funny for a week!”

“How do you mean?” Dom sniffled, then gagged, then retched.

Sweet Jesus, the volume of it all.

“You’ve not eaten properly all week. I’ve offered you sushi and you dinna eat it. Sushi, your favorite! You fucking LOVE sushi!”

Sushi. Dom winced.

Definitely didn’t want sushi.

Tuna. Wibble. Eel. Wibble.

“And then ya drag me off to The Cat and the Fiddle four times to eat…HAGGIS of all things! You wouldn’t even touch it when I swore it would make you horny.”

Dom looked at Billy through his bangs.

“Newsflash for Boyd: haggis doesn’t make you horny.”

“And that’s another thing! We haven’t shagged for a week. You keep having “headaches”! You. Headaches, Mr. who cares about being an exhibitionist, lube is optional Monaghan. A fucking headache!”

Dom rinsed out his mouth, and spat.

“Billy…”

“Are you nipples still sore?”

Dom averted eye contact.

“That’s it, we’re going now.”

*

“I don’t know what kind of things you enjoy doing for kicks on April Fools, but coming to my office, and playing with lab tests is not my idea of a joke!”

Billy frowned. “What are you on about?”

“If you got some girl pregnant, bring her in for care. We won’t share this with the press, but don’t waste my time.”

“Pregnant, what do you mean?” Billy looked from Dom to the Doctor. Chantaal, her nametag said.

What the hell kind of doctor has a name tag? What was this, McDonalds Medical?

Dom chewed on this thumb until he swore it would bleed and he’d die from massive blood loss thus being put out of his misery.

“The urine and blood samples we got show someone who is approx. 6 weeks pregnant, and a bit anemic if you must know.”

Billy laughed half-embarrassed. “Did you try to take the piss Dom?”

Dom licked his lips.

“Dom?”

He scratched his head.

“No, um.”

He scratched his arm.

“Must be some sort of lab mistake or summat, come on Bills.”

Billy frowned, apologizing to the doctor on his way out.  
.  
*

Dinner at Sean’s that week was awkward. Dom had agreed to another round of tests, and Billy just didn’t understand why the man wouldn’t want to get better. He couldn’t get why Dom would want to screw up the blood and urine tests. Eight liters of vomit per day later, it wasn’t funny anymore.

For reasons only one of them could understand, Sean was in a very good mood. He was humming softly to himself, and beaming proudly. He also watched Christine like a hawk, as if she was going to start laying golden eggs, or fart diamonds.

At dinner, Dom felt another wave of nausea rise, and worked to keep it down. He’d feel very wrong ruining their nice carpet. Christine eyed him, worried.

“Ohh, I feel queasy, are you feeling alright Dom? Looking at you is making me sick.”

Dom nodded and managed a weak smile.

Wait, did she just insult him?

Sean clasped his wife’s hand warmly. “You feeling okay sweeties?”

She eyed him. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“You sure? You don’t have anything to tell us?”

Christine blinked. “No?”

Sean laughed stiffly. “Honey you don’t have to hide it, I found the test four days ago.”

Christine blinked _again_.

“What test?”

“I found positive pregnancy test in our bathroom four days ago.”

Dom and Billy volleyed their gaze between Sean and Chris.

“Well it wasn’t mine.”

Sean.

“What do you mean??”

Chris.

“It wasn’t mine.”

Sean

“We haven’t had any other girl over except for…Hannah.”

Christine.

“Hannah??”

Sean, rubbing his mouth. “You know. She’s in the big city.”

Chris, frowning.

“I refuse to believe…”

Sean.

“I need to talk to Elijah about this.”

He got up to get the phone. Billy shrugged, a half smile on his face.

Elijah would shit a brick if his baby sister was pregnant.

Dom stared at each number being dialed.

Two numbers.

Four numbers.

Six numbers.

“SEAN DON’T.”

Sean dropped the phone onto the pasta bowl and cussed.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Hannah didn’t take that test.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I did.”

Billy cocked his head, puzzled. “You took a pregnancy test?”

Dom shrugged. “It was there. I was pissed.”

Sean laughed. “Earth to Dom. Men don’t get pregnant.”

Dom snorted, tears stinging his eyes. “Yah well this one did.”

Christine reached out, placing her hand onto Bill. “Billy you okay?”

In a matter of seconds, Billy saw his future flash before his eyes.

A life. A baby. With Dom.

“…”

:::THUD.::

“I’m pregnant, and _he_ faints.”

Sean crouched, fanning Billy’s face to wake him.

Dom jumped up from the table, wrapping his arms around his midsection. His poor poor tummy. He had such a nice tummy, too. So flat, so lean. So kissable. Not for much longer. Fuck.

“There’s a logical explanation for this.” Sean raked his hands through his hair.

Christine placed her hands over her mouth. “Ohmygod.”

The list continued. Varicose veins. Water retention. Stretch marks. Weird cravings. Maternity Clothes. He had a sudden vision of himself in ugly ass maternity clothes...Oh fuck, what maternity clothes? They don’t even _make_ maternity clothes for men. He was gonna be naked for several months. Dom, the former fashion maverick reduced to a fat lumpy pregnant man. A pregnant man. Oh dear God. Labor. Delivery. Blood. Mucus. Where would the baby come out? He looked down. His poor Weasel. Dom sobbed, feeling very sorry for himself.

Billy, now conscious, paced, shaking. “Holy fucking Christ. How do I do this?”

Chris shook her head. “Do what honey?”

“How do I tell my girlfriend that I got my boyfriend pregnant?”


	2. Chapter 2

Dark clouds loomed above somewhere in Los Angeles, as if an intolerable sin had been committed and _someone_ would have to pay. Dom swiped at his bangs and muttered under his breath. All these fucking men in the house eating everything in sight and the one bloody thing, the one goddamn thing he’d told them to leave alone they’d eaten without a second thought.

Dom felt the prick of tears.

And now he was going to cry.

His abdomen flinched, not an unusual occurrence as his accelerated pregnancy meant that within 2 months he was closer to four, (or five) forcing him to have that damned appointment tomorrow with Dr. Chantaal. A sniffle echoed in the kitchen and he groaned as he realized it was his own. Now look where he’d ended up? Snot-nosed, emotional, unloved, and fat clutching the empty jar of peanut butter with trembling fingers. The baby fluttered in his belly, alive and well, and Dom’s lips curled into a weeping grimace. He would go tomorrow and she’d not even help him, she didn’t believe him the first time when he came in with that positive pregnancy test. He didn’t think anyone did, really, but he’d showed them right? Popping out like a summer watermelon in just eight weeks, his lovely figure going fuck all to hell in staggering increments.

Down the hall someone opened a door, and Dom remembered why he was in the kitchen, the rich buttery nut smell of the Jiffy wafting into his running nose, piercing past the congestion, and he cleared his throat. “Billy!”

He heard their tense whispers, and the stumble of bare feet shuffling on the floor. If he knew then correctly, they’d be whispering now, urging Billy to mind his temper and not rile Dom up, it wasn’t good for his condition.

Fuck the condition, Dom said. Well, but he didn’t mean it really. He wouldn’t dream of hurting the baby, not in the least, but. But. That didn’t mean he’d gone and been made of fucking china.

No, actually? Fuck Billy and his greedy ass mouth. Balding fucker was getting as stout as he was and at least Dom had the baby as an excuse. When the fog of nausea cleared an unearthly hunger over came Dom, and since then nothing that wasn’t chained was safe in the crisper. At the top of his favorite’s list, alongside the non-alcoholic beer, (so he could remember when he could drink _real_ beer), and bacon, (the fat settled his tum tum), was his beloved peanut butter.

He had it on high authority, (Orlando) that Billy had the munchies the night past. Dom caught the poor sod diving into his Ritz stash under the sink and in Orlando’s stammering confession he choked out that he also heard Bill crunching on apples. When Dom thought of it, Bill’s breath did smell a bit nutty when he’d kissed him before bed, but it was Billy.

The man’s mouth came in contact with nuts all the time.

The thought almost coaxed a smile out of him just as Billy briskly rounded the corner, but he tamped it down, fixed on berating Billy for eating the last of the stash and not replacing it.

“You called?”

The fucker had the nerve to arch his eyebrows. Sorta high up, so that his entire hairline moved and these lines formed rounded highways across his shining dome forehead. That look meant he was being recalcitrant.  
  
“Shame on you.” Dom rumbled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh but you do, William Boyd, eating the baby’s peanut butter!”

“The baby’s!” Billy snapped, unfolding his arms.

“Yes, the baby’s! I eat it, it goes down, and the baby gets nourishment from it! And you go eating it all up, you could have slurped down the baby’s healthy teeth last night!”

“Nourishment huh? What nourishment did he get from that entire bag of Skittles you sent poor Sean to get eh? And I wouldn’t be tha’ concerned about healthy teeth Dom. You drink so much milk I could tweak your nipples and make sour cream, and besides the bairn’s British, we aren’t much known for our teeth anyway!”

“Sour cream! How dare you—“

“With the mood you’ve been in lately—“

That did it. Dom slammed the empty jar on the table, and stormed past Billy.

“Where are you going?”

Dom’s brain tried to unscramble and remember. Keys, keys, where had he put the fucking keys? AH. Pocket. What’s it got in its pocketses…Dear GOD he was quoting the movie. This was bad bad bad.

“Dammit Dom!”

“I’m going to get peanut butter!” Dom snapped, struggling to put his jacket on over his maternity shirt. Either he was imaging things, or even his jackets weren’t fitting him anymore.

“You can’t do that Dom. You can’t drive.” Billy sighed, slapping his hands against his pants.

“I can to.”

“You can’t.” Billy snapped again putting his hand over the keys and blocking Dom’s exit from his tiny flat.

“And why not?”

“Because you’re too fat to fit behind the steering wheel.” Elijah drawled, having just emerged from the back of the house, with Christine, Orlando, and Sean in tow.

Dom’s jaw dropped, fat tears leapt into his eyes and he was dimly aware of the sound of Orlando’s hand slapping Elijah upside the head.

“I can too!” Dom huffed, and pulled away from Billy, staggering out the door, and then gingerly padding his way down the steps.

No one followed.

Well fuck them. He’d get his peanut butter, make it a big jar too, and then, tonight, between Designing Women and Tech Weekly Unlimited, he’d eat the whole thing and not offer them one spoonful.

~

The trip to the store lasted longer than he’d expected, as he first had to indeed work out the logistics of how he’d sit in his small BMW, and furthermore, how his short legs would reach the pedals while his arms reached the stick shift to change gears. In the end he had to lean the seat way back, and as he’d taken to wearing dark sunglasses and a hat to avoid attention, earned many dark stares for the local gangsters that cruised the streets of LA at night.

Several times he ended up braking abruptly and loudly as he’d not been able to see very well over the dash, and feared he was going to hit someone, and on one memorable intersection he stalled out, as he was too distracted with the biting seat belt to pay attention to his clutch but somehow he got there.

He opted to err on the side of caution, and went into his favorite 7-11, realizing too late that he’d went out in his house shoes and that somehow the maternity shirt began to ride up, revealing his taunt golden belly. Remi had just put a fresh batch of hot dogs up on the display and as the wieners turned in slow time honored precision the juices dripped down, sending a positively sinful aroma into Dom’s nose.

Twenty minutes, five curious stares, four mustard and onion dogs with salsa, three Slim Jims, a Mar’s bar, a small cherry slushie, and a jar of peanut butter later, Dom emerged chewing the remains of hot dog number two, and slid into the car.

When he arrived home, the entire clan had assembled into the living room, everyone as tense as a proctologist’s waiting room full of straight boys.

“What?”

“Where were you?” Billy demanded, pulling the bag from Dom’s arms. “We were worried sick. Sean wanted to call the police to find you but I told him no. Couldn’t have the authorities finding you—“

“While I’m like this?” Dom gestured to his swollen middle.

“Well, yes.” Billy snapped. “I know you’ve had it very hard.”

Dom cocked his head, “Oh you have no idea.”

“But I do! Because I’ve been here all along with you.”

The others had the good sense to realize that their argument was turning into a Moment, and in varying degrees of subtlety found an excuse to leave the room. Save Elijah, who rather wanted to watch until Sean snatched him by the collar.

Dirty bugger.

“Billy…” Dom felt those damn tears prickle again.

“I’m sorry Elijah called you fat. I popped him one for it when you went out the door, that’s why I didn’t follow you. Sean made me go get him some ice for his face.”

Dom sniffled. “That why he was talking with a lisp?”

“Aye. I aimed for his shoulder and oops, found his mouth.”

“And the eye?”

“Well, I kept slipping, you see. Over waxed floors I think.” He sniffed.

“From your bare arse.” Dom grinned.

“Only because it’s too much for your back now.” Billy patted the tense curve for emphasis.

“Elijah’s right you know.” Dom twisted the Slim Jim. “I am fat. All I do is eat.”

“Shhhh now. It’s for the baby. Besides Dom you were rail thin to begin with, you’re not fat. Just filled out a bit now. I think I rather like your face anyway. More rounded like that, softens your pointy bits.”

A wicked grin flashed across his face.

“Not all my pointy bits.”

“I should hope not. “ Billy laughed, slipping his arms around Dom, to settle firmly and possessively onto Dom’s belly. “It would make our joint showers far less interesting.”

“I think we should have one now.” Dom announced, wiggling back into Billy’s crotch with a purpose, his meat snack long forgotten in favor of another. “While I can still fit.”

“You know, “Billy kissed Dom’s neck. “I think that’s a great idea.”

And so they did. Though not before Dom had to leave a very bothered Billy to come retrieve his peanut butter. After all, he had it on high authority that Billy ate the peanut butter but a little birdie (Christine) told him that it was Elijah all along. With peanut butter he wasn’t taking any chances.


End file.
